How It Should Be, We Just Have To Fix It
by Milena D
Summary: Set after the events of Abomination. Derek never did get a chance to finish asking his questions and Stiles is not in the mood. Pre-slash Derek/Stiles. Episode Tag
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: How It Should Be (We Just Have To Fix It)  
**Rating**: PG-13/T  
**Pairing**: Derek/Stiles (pre-slash)  
**Genre**: Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag (2x04)

**Summary**: Set after the events of Abomination. Derek never did get a chance to finish asking his questions and Stiles is not in the mood.

**Author's Note:** (Note: Posting two fics at the same time so this is the same note.) So, I haven't actually been inspired to write fic in years. And then Teen Wolf happened. And then Sterek. And then specifically this episode. So I'm a little nervous to be posting. This was written immediately after the airing of the episode, along with another piece, ending now at 4am so I apologize any incoherence! (Although it's a miracle I'm coherent at all after this episode). Also, self-beta'd so sorry for any mistakes. I own nothing but the plot.

This story can be read with the other story I just posted (Slings, Arrows and Other Pool-Side Injuries) but isn't meant as a strict continuation.

* * *

Stiles leaned against the doorframe and let his head rest on the wall of his hallway when he had finally succeeded in scaling the Everest that was his staircase. He thought he might stay here the night. Just sleep standing up. It did carry the risk of falling backwards and down the stairs but somehow that was more palatable an idea than continuing forward into his bathroom. The downside, of course, would be his dad finding his dead body at the bottom of the stairs in the morning. As it was, he was currently at the scene where his son had almost died tonight, the high school pool. Apparently someone had broken the ridiculously high skylights. Go figure.

Stiles was one giant ache that had somehow self-reproduced and spawned mini-aches within itself. And he was freezing. His tracksuit had dried to the point of not dripping evidence all over the floor of his house but it had more or less become a sponge of debilitating cold resting over every inch of his skin. He really needed a shower, both to warm up and to wash the stink of chlorine off of him, though he doubted he'd ever get the smell out of his nose. He wondered how Derek was doing with his heightened senses, but maybe those had been dulled as well. He'd have to look up the particulars of toxic paralysis soon. Like, really soon if this crap was going to keep happening. Maybe they could make an antidote or something. Though unless you were in pairs, that would still be useless. Or if you were both affected like he and the mecha-

Stiles screwed his eyes shut as a painful nausea overtook him but snapped them back open when the image of the mechanic getting crushed by his jeep painted itself over his lids. So. He needed distracting. He shook himself awake and stepped into the bathroom but it wasn't until he turned the shower on that he realized his dilemma: warmth meant a shower but a shower meant a ton of water all over him. With a resigned sigh and a question as to how this had become his life, Stiles finally shed his waterlogged tracksuit and stepped under the hot spray. Stiles Stilinski may have been sucked into the supernatural world, may have been threatened and seen people die and almost died himself a few times, all while trying to maintain his grades and a relationship with his dad (that he now needed to work on). But Stiles Stilinski was not going to add a water phobia to the shitstorm that had become his every day.

It really wasn't so bad anyway, once he was under, and the hot water not only warmed him up but also soothed his nearly broken body. Still, he didn't linger any longer than necessary and not ten minutes later, he found himself in his bedroom pulling on a sweatshirt over his two undershirts as his window opened.

"What do you want?" He asked without turning when a body slid in quietly but didn't speak.

"Just wanted to see...to check...in." Derek finished, strangely hesitantly.

"How uncharacteristically decent of you." Stiles retorted without any real anger. His fatigue was a very placating thing. Without looking at him, he could tell Derek was flashing his alpha eyes and his mind supplied him with commentary to the tune of "ooh, scary". His mind wasn't always useful. He did actually turn around eventually, leaning back against his dresser instead of going to his bed. Once his body hit that mattress, he knew he'd be out for the count.

"What do you want?" He repeated. "Because I'm finding it hard to believe you're suddenly concerned about my wellbeing after you sent your shiny new recruits out to beat on me. Twice, now, by the way."

Derek's face lightened into an amused smirk. "She pulled your ear, Stiles, she didn't break your kneecaps."

"No, just my car, and then my face with my car." Oh look at that, maybe he wasn't too tired to be pissed off after all. And somehow, Derek's clear cluelessness just pissed him off more. "Yeah, while you guys were having your little Werewolves on Ice power struggle, I was waking up in a dumpster after having my face smashed in by my own car parts."

"I didn't tell her to do that." Derek bit out, his jaw clenching.

"The reason for which I was conveniently at the mechanic's garage you wanted to know so much about, and the reason I had to watch a man get slowly crushed to death without be able to do a goddamn thing but lie on the floor paralyzed and wait for my turn!" Stiles pushed himself back into his dresser just to feel the hard edges dig into his hurting back and dispel the edge of what felt like a panic attack. He didn't want to remember that, he didn't want to remember that feeling. Or how it was because of Derek that he had to feel it at all but, in for a penny... "And while we're at it, all of tonight is your fault too. And again your blonde bombshell of a henchman is front and center in the Abuse Stiles production, though she was conveniently absent for the two hours I had to keep your lead-filled ass afloat."

"Stiles," the man finally spoke, much closer than he'd previously been, "I'm sorry."

Stiles' head snapped up and he looked at Derek mistrustfully.

"I'm serious." The older man said, sounding sincere as he took a step forward, not quite invading Stiles' personal space but definitely toeing the perimeter. "I didn't tell her to hit you but I'm sorry she did. She's proving to have more...initiative than I'd thought. I'm dealing with it."

"Right." Stiles finally answered, looking away. "Well thanks for the conversation I can now point to the next time I wake up with a concussion."

He could tell Derek didn't like not having his word immediately trusted but he could suck it. Stiles had just wanted to get into bed and try to recover from this day of insanity before tomorrow came and it all happened again and the alpha was not only interrupting that plan but was forcing Stiles to confront things he didn't want to confront yet. Or ever, maybe. Who knows.

"What did you want?" He repeated. Hopefully, for the last time. Derek nodded and backed away to sit on the corner of his bed. Stiles felt a very strong urge to march up to him, pull the covers out from under him and just kick him off. The memory of how heavy that body was and how tired his muscles were was, he was sad to say, really the only things stopping him.

"We never finished our conversation." Derek answered as if the context was obvious.

"What conversation? You mean the interrogation? The one I was manhandled to? Are you kidding me right now?" Stiles shot back incredulously. "Dude, you were there. You friggin saw it up close and personal, just like I did. What the hell more do you need from me?"

Derek didn't answer and for a long while, Stiles was actually at a loss. He didn't want to remember the garage again and definitely not for Derek and most especially not for no reason. So they were locked in silence, neither offering anything until finally Stiles just gave up and decided that Derek was the closest thing in his life to an immovable force and if he wanted something, he wasn't just going to leave until he got it. So, fine. Derek could be immovable but Stiles was the epitome of adaptability. Derek wanted to steal his bed? Well Stiles wanted to sleep. No problem. Stiles lowered himself down the length of his dresser, trying to avoid the knobs, and sat on the ground. Once settled, he closed his eyes and shut the world out after sending out a quick prayer for his soon to be very numb butt.

He had just navigated past that world of the in-between when strong hands slid under his arms and hauled him up. That...was disorienting, and he spluttered and flailed as full consciousness tried to reassert itself.

"What the hell are you doing?" He mumbled. Derek didn't answer him, only guided him to the bed he'd relinquished - Victory! - and helped him in. It was then that Stiles decided he must still be asleep and there are no consequences in sleep, especially not of the vindictive mauling variety, so he opened his mouth.

"Do you do this for all the people you don't trust?"

The hands that were tugging his comforter up stilled but eventually resumed their task until the heavy cover was up to his shoulders, creating a cocoon of warmth he hadn't known was missing from his life.

"Shut up, Stiles." He answered simply. And Stiles kind of wanted to. He wanted to just lay there in his cocoon and bask in the fact that his father wasn't dragging his body out of a pool, or out of a mechanic's garage, or out of a dumpster, or out of a parking garage. He wanted to appreciate that for a night and not think ahead to what the next near thing would be. And despite the alpha's part in all of this, he wanted Derek there too, sitting where he was, at his side, another source of warmth and strength. Sure, paralyzed, he had been less than useless but if that thing decided to come back for him, there was nothing Stiles could do. He was too tired, in too much pain.

However, in yet another string of not doing what Stiles wants, Derek got up from the bed and headed for the window.

"I thought you wanted your 'conversation'."

"It can wait." The alpha replied, his head bowing for a second in a way that seemed strangely vulnerable. Stiles was banking on the fact that Derek thought he'd forget witnessing that in his fatigued state. Fat chance. It made him wonder if Derek wasn't a bigger liar than he'd assumed. If maybe he hadn't come to continue his interrogation but just to be with someone who understood what happened in those horrible two hours while they waited to die. Stiles wanted to ask him to stay. Wanted to tell him that it was really warm under the covers and that he'd be able to forget the cold of the water, of the night, of not being to feel at all, if he just got in. Instead, he said, "Hey."

Derek turned, one hand on the window latch.

"I didn't not let you go because I need you." Stiles started, realizing as he spoke that he'd needed to say this for hours. "I know it may seem counter-intuitive but I don't actually need you at all."

Derek's face lost all of its vulnerability and was replaced by the new cockiness he'd dug up from somewhere recently.

"I know," Stiles continued, getting up to sit leaning on his hands, "I'm the weak, little human caught in the middle of all your supernatural shenanigans but may I remind you that where it concerns Scott, I was the one who did all the research? We tried to go to you for help but you really didn't provide much, did you? And where it concerns the Argents and the upcoming war? None of that would be happening if you weren't around. And FYI? It's a lot easier for one admittedly idiotic werewolf to stay low and under the radar than it is for five together."

He hated saying the words, and hated Derek's changing expressions - from cocky, to angry, to guilty - even more, but they needed to be said.

"What's your point?" Derek growled lowly, hands fisted defensively.

"My point is that I don't need you. And Scott doesn't need you." He repeated with purpose, making sure he was being heard. "So when I save you? It's because I want you to live, not because I expect things from you. I didn't spend two hours killing myself treading water because I'm racking up favours you owe me, Derek. I did it because I didn't want you to die."

The alpha's face was almost heartbreaking. His eyes were shifting to a different spot every second and his head was bowed.

"Just...remember that next time." He asked softly. "I might make you less of a dick."

And those eyes locked back on him as an unimpressed stare, causing Stiles to laugh before buckling it down.

"Seriously though, two hours I had to listen to you bitch. And I think your glares alone weigh like 10 pounds each of raw hatred. We could have used you losing a few." He rambled on, pointing at Derek's face. "Yeah, like that one, well that's probably a fiver because you're not doing your glow in the dark bit but you get the idea."

"Shut up, Stiles." The alpha said, his tone final as he released the latch on the window. As soon as it was open, a cold gust of air forced its way into the room, chilling Stiles' exposed arms and apparently making him really stupid.

"It's cold out there." He heard himself say.

"I'll close it from outside." Derek now straddled the sill, his leading leg on the roof outside.

"No!" Stiles protested, earning himself Derek's renewed attention. He took a moment to contemplate the stupidity of what would follow and then forgot about it. "I mean, it's cold out there. And you've been in the water for hours. You'll get pneumonia. Or something."

Derek's alpha brow (the arrogant one) rose and Stiles mustered the last of his willpower to stare it down.

"Stay?" He ventured.

It rose higher.

"Stay." He asked, and then made the ultimate show of faith and sacrifice by turning down one side of the covers, effectively ripping open his cocoon to the harsh elements and his body within it. Derek slowly brought him leg back inside, but left the window open, leaning against the sill as he contemplated the teenager until Stiles got fed up.

"C'mon. Just stay." He all but ordered, shaking the edge of the comforter in Derek's direction. Incredibly, Derek's hand resecured the latch and then he was moving towards the bed, each step slow and deliberate as if reassessing the situation with every inch gained. Finally, he was at the bed and both of them were at a loss for where to look. Derek toed his boots off, still ever so slowly, and then seemed to debate with the rest. He probably would have kept everything on out of sheer stubbornness but, while he wasn't as affected as Stiles by the cold, his clothes were just as wet as Stiles' had been and the water would seep into the mattress, defeating the purpose. So, both of them resolutely staring elsewhere, Derek shucked both jeans and shirt, threw them into the nearby hamper, and finally laid himself down on the bed, pulling the comforter Stiles handed him and resealing the now larger cocoon of warmth.

After that, there was no talking, not even to say goodnight, because that would feel like an acknowledgement of whatever the hell they'd just agreed to enter into and neither of them had the mental capacity for that just then. Instead, Derek lay still on his back and Stiles shifted in closer until they were touching shoulder to folded-in arms because this may have been a monumental moment but nothing on the Earth was more important than the integrity of the cocoon, and that meant plugging all the gaps where air could come in. As Stiles fell asleep, he unconsciously inched over and over until he was partially resting on Derek's chest and crushing his right arm. Derek gently freed his hostaged appendage and struggled to find a natural place to put until he gave in and wrapped it around the human's back. Making a final check to ensure the comforter wasn't going to budge in the night, Derek let his eyes close, let himself breathe in scent of Stiles' clean, non-chlorinated skin, let his own skin take in the warmth surrounding him, let his ears follow the comforting steadiness of their combined heartbeats, and let his arm tighten again around Stiles' back, keeping him as close as Stiles had kept him for hours upon end.

This was different though. This was how it should be. How they should be. And with that thought, for the first time since he'd hit the water, Derek could breathe easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: How It Should Be (We Just Have To Fix It)  
**Rating**: PG-13/T  
**Pairing**: Derek/Stiles (pre-slash)  
**Genre**: Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag (2x04)

**Summary**: Set after the events of Abomination. Derek never did get a chance to finish asking his questions and Stiles is not in the mood.

**Author's Note: **I was asked by a few people to extend the one-shot and because a) you guys are phenomenal, and b) I'm a serious sucker for morning scenes, I give you a second and final chapter to this episode tag. I hope it's just as much to your liking as the first! :)

This chapter is also unbeta'd (and posted at 3am) but I've re-read it (and changed it) twenty times and I can't do it again so I apologize in advance for any typos/mistakes.

* * *

Morning brought with it a significant amount of low-level pain, but also a heat that Stiles felt he'd been chasing mostly unsuccessfully for 23.5 of the previous 24 hours. His precious cocoon had fallen victim no doubt to night-time tossing and turning, and his comforter now only covered his lower back and one of his legs. There was, however, a solid wall of what he'd bet was Derek's back along his right arm and side, and between Derek and the sun streaming in from the window, Stiles felt perfectly cozy. That was his first thought - one of triumph over the elements - as he slowly drifted back to consciousness.

The second was how much easier it was to think after a full night's sleep. Gone was the heady, low-level thrum of panicked thoughts that made it impossible to focus on any one thing for very long (as if he didn't have enough of that on a normal day) and, more importantly, impossible to block the whole out. Instead, the events that had begun to run together were all boxed away in his mind, ready for perusal at his leisure. His leisure was synonymous with an indefinite raincheck. Especially since he was very comfortable sprawled out on his stomach on the left side of his bed and he was having a hard time coming up with a reason for moving or dredging up any overly complex thoughts.

Between his state of early morning drowsiness, the sweet nostalgia of another body in the bed next to him, and the sound of his dad puttering around downstairs, Stiles felt as though he was all of ten years old and waking up from a sleepover with Scott with absolutely zero cares in the world. Unfortunately, he wasn't ten and his dad puttering around downstairs was most definitely a care he should be having. Stiles forced himself to at least crack his eyes open to contemplate that danger, but despite his valiant efforts, they slid back closed. It was fine; he and his dad had come to an understanding when the man had become the Sheriff and his semi-regular hours had become nearly shift-work and emergency calls. Without imminent danger as a motivator, no one was to wake anyone else up on the weekend. Theirs was a sleep and let sleep policy and they held it sacred. So his harbouring of a non-fugitive but definitely adult and shady ass was not likely to be found out this morning. Speaking of which...

He turned his head on the pillow to face the other side and huffed with disappointment when he realized he'd have to actually put effort into moving to see Derek's face over his shoulder, as the man was sleeping on his side. When he did, he saw that his eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow, but Stiles had been with Scott through the majority of his wolfy discoveries and he very much doubted the alpha was sleeping through the cacophony of his dad's past-its-prime percolator in the kitchen. Stiles didn't care enough to call him on it though. He hadn't wanted to move either, after all.

As Stiles sank back down onto his pillow, turning his body gently (and with much difficulty) to face Derek's, he realized that, in his haze of the night before, he'd left his chlorine-soaked tracksuit on the bathroom floor, where his dad would have seen it...coming back from the high school pool's broken skylight incident. He groaned silently and heard the incessant ticking of the imaginary countdown he'd be harassed by for weeks now. It was a countdown to the time when his dad's hand would be forced by too many witnesses to finally call his own son in for questioning, and Stiles would have no one to blame but his own god forsaken curiousity. Present at the scene of a dead body? Check for Laura Hale, check for the school janitor, check for the mechanic. Present at the scene of a violent crime? Check for the janitor again, check for Lydia's attack, check for a certain unconscious deputy as a murder suspect breaks out of jail, really check for any crime that's occurred since Derek Hale came back to town. It was honestly a miracle that he wasn't in jail or in a psychiatric facility right now. ...Or _was_ he? It would explain how he was in bed with an alpha _werewolf_ and not freaking, or doing anything other than basking. No, he really had to get a grip on those kinds of thoughts or he really would end up in the loony bin.

Stiles sighed audibly, told his brain to be quiet and inched closer to the back in front of him, as if Derek could shield him from the externalized form of his mind the way he'd tried to shield him from the kanima. But just as he was busy not thinking about how this morning, tucked away from the rest of the world, would eventually rejoin said world, Stiles noticed the muscles of Derek's sculpted back roll fluidly just a couple of inches from his eyes. He felt a powerful urge to still them with an urgent hand and tell Derek to just...shut up, and just lie there for a while. But he didn't. He let those muscles disappear from view and felt as the mattress bounced softly as Derek carefully turned himself onto his back; they had to face reality eventually.

Or maybe not, because neither seemed inclined to speak and shatter the illusion of normalcy and peacefulness.

Derek glanced at him briefly but ultimately decided the ceiling was a safer bet in this slowly rising state of awkwardness. The silence ultimately didn't help; it persisted from the night before and seemed a sticky thing they couldn't get rid of easily. Suddenly, a clanging from the kitchen below made Stiles' eyes swivel to the door out of reflex and he felt the same bouncing of the mattress as Derek slipped out and make for the hamper where his clothes would likely be dry, though wrinkled. When the sounds of Derek getting dressed ceased and were replaced by footsteps inching away from the bed, Stiles' eyes left him to study the sheet covering his mattress. What could he say? This wasn't some one-night booty call for which there was a surprisingly intricate protocol if tv and the internet were to be believed. The only thing that had happened last night was two people who'd nearly drowned together had finally gotten to rest for a while in a warm, safe place. And maybe it had been the presence of the other that had made it a warm, safe place to begin with, and not Stiles' physical bed or the comforter or the house, but it seemed like neither of them was going to bring it up as a topic for discussion or hypothesis.

Despite it all, something inside of Stiles was clawing to get out, something was begging him to just say something, because he knew that if Derek left, this silence they'd built up would follow them. It would stretch to every future meet-up they would ever have until one of them _finally_ broke it, probably in an unpleasant and damaging way. And he didn't want that. Their meetings were already ripe with awkwardness and discomfort as it was and them getting worse was the opposite of what he wanted.

He snapped his eyes back up - his sheer will overpowering his sense of self-preservation and dignity - and opened his mouth to call Derek back, but he shut it with a clacking of his teeth. The now fully-dressed man was barely a foot away, next to his side of the bed (far from the window), in the process of sitting down on the bed beside him.

"How are you feeling?" Derek asked quietly, his eyes gliding to the few limbs that had escaped the comforter after his recent move.

"Sore." Stiles managed. Derek nodded and didn't move away.

"Are we picking up on that interrogation again?" He asked to fill the silence, antagonism completely lacking from his voice. Derek didn't smirk, as he'd been hoping, he just shook his head. He did have the pleasure of seeing a couple of upward-facing stray strands of Derek's bedhead bounce with the motion, though. He wondered how many people were left who had ever witnessed the great Derek Hale in such a state of dishevelment. Stiles was already thinking up another yes/no question when Derek's hand came out slowly to prod carefully at a fading bruise under the dark hair at his left temple.

"Is this from Erica?"

"Yeah." Stiles replied with less venom than he felt entitled to. At this precise moment, in this particular morning, it really didn't feel like that big a deal anymore. Derek nodded again, assertively.

"I'll sort her out." The hushed words felt like a promise and Stiles appreciated it. He nodded back to the alpha because apparently nods were just all-purpose answers on mornings-after.

"I should get going." Derek said after a moment, sounding almost apologetic. "I didn't tell the others I'd be gone all night, they'll probably be worried."

Sad though it may be, the simple acknowledgement that last night had happened made Stiles twitchy with some kind of energy. He tried not to let it show, and instead said, "well, it's not like you knew you would be."

"No." Derek let out, a hint of wonder in his voice as he pinned Stiles in place with his eyes. He'd done it before, but it was usually in anger or disbelief.

Making good on his words, Derek pat Stiles' covered leg, stood and replayed last's night events by opening the window latch. In keeping with those events, as soon as Derek's foot made its way outside, Stiles called him back.

"Hey, Derek?"

The man turned again, looking faintly amused and putting his hand out in the sun as if to indicate that no, it actually wasn't that cold anymore.

"No," Stiles shook his head, his grin wry. "I was just wondering...what did you need from me a couple of weeks ago?"

Derek's eyes narrowed with something Stiles was more used to - defensive confusion.

"The night at the police station with Isaac." Stiles elaborated. "You kept him from tearing my throat out?"

Derek knew the night, obviously, but he still didn't understand the question.

"And then last night, when you got in front of me and pushed me away? What is it you need from me?" Ah ha, there it was. Behind a quickly hidden, self-deprecating twitch of a grin, Stiles could see Derek finally catch on.

"Scott...listens to you, Stiles." Derek spoke with a soul-deep sigh, not quite managing to fully put away that persistent grin you get when you've been caught and you just want to laugh the nervousness away. "I need him in my pack and I think you'll probably be key in getting him to understand that it's for the best."

"Oh." Stiles replied airily. "It's funny because all I heard just now was 'Scott is a lie, Stiles, and this is a lie and this part is too.'"

Derek looked out the window, smile fully captured in the sunlight, and shook his head.

"And what about before you had a pack? Like in the hospital when you got the crap beat out of you trying to save me from Peter and his nurse?" Stiles goaded, his unabashed smirk just _owning_ its place on his face. "What do you need from me, Derek?"

"_Nothing_, Stiles." The alpha finally admitted pointedly, making a face that successfully conveyed he was accepting defeat but would still be leaving the stand-off a winner because a winner was just what he was. "I don't _need_ you for anything."

And with a smile that belonged in the sunlight - _always_ - Derek slipped out the window, closing it securely behind him as he left. Stiles, meanwhile, leaned back into warm bed in satisfaction, pulling the covers back over himself and drifting back to sleep to the unspoken words of "I just didn't want you to die" building him a vision of a world where this morning happened countless times again; where warmth and safety were actually a topic of discussion and hypothesis as well as the standing theme.


End file.
